Cenophobia
by Feliciano 'Italy' Vargas
Summary: The cat's out of the bag- countries are people, people are countries- and it's all everybody's fault that humanity knows. Oaths of secrecy are abandoned, and mass confusion has to be dealt with. Good luck, world, and watch your step!
1. Chapter 1

**RATED T FOR LANGUAGE AND MILD SUGGESTIVE SCENES**

**A/N: Yeah, probably not the most original idea on the site, but I decided to write one of these 'Nations Revealed' fanfictions to the best of my ability! Leave feedback, PM me if I don't update, etc. etc. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to my friend from Furcadia, Canada Williams, for helping me through my intense writers block.**

**I, sadly, do not own Hetalia.**

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**JULY 19, 2013**

Peace.

That was what Feliciano felt, a pleasant change from the usual stress involving his work, and his very existence. Fingers laced behind his head and woven into his hair, he was tucked comfortably away in a little patch of heaven on earth, the smell of wildflowers filling his nose as a light breeze ruffled his hair. A contented sigh left his lips and he shifted, seeking an even more comfortable position in this lush field.

Silence.

It was not an absolute silence- a total absence of noise. The gentle sounds of the wind, weaving deftly through the grass still reached his ears, the high melody of birdsong, and the distant cacophony of civilization, voices raised in shouts of greeting or barter, or even rage, car horns and tires, the typical banging of construction. These sounds, however, faded away, submitting themselves to memory's superiority.

Nostalgia.

Yes, memory. Memory flooded him, of intense stares and awkward situations, and a little black hat atop a serious face, so often seen red and flustered. An offered hand, a friendly frown, careless days full of art and love. Affectionate words between innocent children. A comfortable sadness sent his lips twitching into a smile, closed eyes peacefully turned to the sky.

It was too bad that it would have to end. A simple white shirt and pair of jeans would be swapped for his more formal, acceptable blue uniform, comfortable sandals changed for his boots. His peace would melt into work, his silence would be filled with urgent requests, his nostalgia filled with the needs of today.

With a regretful sigh, he stood up, brushing himself off and looking briefly over this sheltered paradise. One last smile was given to it before he took an easy pace, an odd mixture of a skip and a job being taken to return to his Venice.

It was not an eventful journey, in any way, no more than usual in his crowded city. With amusement, he thought of his German friend's constant worries that he would be harmed in his own country, be it fatally or not- either one would be rather awkward, if you thought about it. No matter his insistences to the contrary, Ludwig was still convinced that this place was a deathtrap, an accident waiting to happen.

Stiff suits, tight ties, enclosed offices. None of these were considered 'fun' to the Italian, tucked away in a secret place where nobody might stumble upon or attempt to harm him. A pen in hand, he alternated between paperwork and computerwork, addressing the issues of his country.

Boredom.

Centuries of the same thing, no change, sitting at a desk for so long to look over everything, be it trivial or no, before passing it on to others. No chance to amuse himself, nor to go 'bother' Ludwig- who was more than a short ways away, back in his own country- as he normally would. He was shut up, cramped, and he was in desperate need of amusement, as usual.

Noise.

Too many voices, demanding too much of him. Rapid fire Italian, easily understood and responded to in the same fashion, one word repeated over and over- 'Italia.' His name. His identity. Said in so many different ways, over and over, breaking through his mind. Himself. Italy.

Regret.

Wars, battles, problems, economies, murders, deaths, thefts, arsons, so many things. Unpleasant memories forced to the surface for the good of everyone, formalities that he would much rather forgo rather than be forced through, abandoning responsibilities instead of being made to bring up bad blood, to bury it once again.

Leaving again would be such a pleasure, in his mind, the ability to walk home, change to comfortable clothing, and relax, without work demanding his attention. Strolling from his workplace with more warnings to 'be careful, don't tell anyone!' and other such things.

It was finally time to leave. With a yawn, he stood, and said his farewells, his cheerful 'ciao's being met with the more formal 'arrivederci' that he always received. With a sigh, barely hidden, he walked out.

His 'deathtrap' city of Venice, Italy, filled with light and noise and more life than you would think could ever exist, filled with art and beauty- and its own darkness, its other side, as with any other place. Still, the bad in himself and his land was not his current focus. Indeed, he did not truly seem to have a current focus at all, oblivious to the world as always.

It was not until blinding pain hit him that he cared about much of anything at all, his body flying through the air with a sickening crunch and landing with another, similar noise. His eyes flew open, tears welling up, and a ragged shout of agony was flung from his throat.

Shocked, his eyes flew wide open, blood gathering around his lips. Screams, shouts, apologies- he registered them, though not the meaning of the words. Only that there was panic, mass confusion, and so much chaos, and that his pain was vanishing with adrenaline and darkness, both covering him in a thick fog.

_ No. No. No._

He could feel his heart stopping. He could feel cold hands pulling him away, though this he knew to be an illusion.

_ Not here. Not now._

Broken bones, things that would have a normal human being already long gone, numbed by hormones and shock.

_ I can't die here. I can't die here._

He was, though, and there was nothing he could do about it. His last thought was that Ludwig would be sad, even disappointed with him, possibly angry, and that there would be far too much explaining to do when he did wake up.

**JULY 25, 2013**

Naturally, when he at last awoke, he was confused, disoriented, and oh so very sore. Moving did not seem to be an option for the moment, and the simple act of breathing sent pain shooting through his body, primarily his ribcage, though he slowly adjusted to the highly unpleasant feeling.

Slowly, he became aware of other sensations, too, regaining bits of his consciousness and slowly expanding his viewpoint on the world. Bandages, wrapped tightly around his arms, legs, torso. A large hand wrapped around his, warm and reassuring. A flimsy hospital gown, paired with typical sheets and bedding. The steady beep of hospital machines. The low murmur of voices, all speaking in English.

"… busy. He can not come at the time, I apologize. He is not feeling the best, and the States decided that he needs to stay at home and rest. Seeing as he could not leave this be, he sent me to represent him." The words were spoken by an unfamiliar voice, accented in typical American style- yet phrased clearly, even respectfully, something that Italy did not quite understand. The heavy sigh that followed this bit of speech, however, he knew quite well.

"L-Lud…?" he began tentatively, a hoarse whisper that hurt to be made. Immediately, there was noise, reactions to him. Italy forced his eyes open, ignoring the uncomfortable, almost crusty feeling that came with one having their eyes closed for far too long.

"Feliciano!" he said, looking a bit surprised, and relieved. "You're awake."

"Good!" said the mystery voice with a polite cheer. "Buongiorno, signore Vargas. Mi chiamo-"

"Y-you can speak in English, if you want…" Italy murmured, closing his eyes again. The unnatural accent that went with the words reinforced the 'American' theory, although that he spoke a different language at all was surprising and rather pleasant.

"Very well, thank you. My official name is Washington D.C. I represent the capital city of the United States of America, and I am here on behalf of my father who is currently busy. If we are in public, and can not address each other by our normal names, you may know me as Michael W. Jones." A pleasant smile was placed on the man's face, flicking blonde hair out of brilliant blue eyes. The dull glint of glasses shielded part of the color from view, but it was unmistakably similar to America.

"Why does America need someone here…?" Even as he spoke, Italy grimaced at how his voice sounded- he sounded quiet, injured. Like he had forgotten how to speak. Like it hurt him. It did, a little, but that was a moot point. Washington shrugged, not seeming too concerned, though Germany's face displayed classic worry.

"Because, he's America, and you know him," was the reply he got, almost bored. "If something happens, he has to be there to 'fix' it. Since he can't come... I had to, which is regrettable because, no offense, but I would rather be back home, working to get America back on track."

"No offense taken, I understand," Italy replied, attempting to raise one hand in a friendly way, only to be restrained by his bandages. The movement was not noticed by capital or country.

"How do you feel, Italy?" Germany sounded tired- had he slept recently?

"Molto bene, grazie!" Unlike his friend, Italy still at least tried to possess his usual cheer, and Washington chuckled, shaking his head.

"'Bene' enough to host the next World Conference?" he asked, brow quirked. It looked to Feliciano as though he was wickedly grinning. Italy frowned, tilting his head, but before he could ask, the capital continued talking, easily telling what the question would be by the confused look on the Italian's face. "There are several reasons, not the least among them being death threats by your brother. However, we're overdue anyways, and we need to have a meeting to discuss this. As far as I know, this hasn't happened before. Nations have died in public, but they woke up before they got to the hospital or anything."

"Scusa..." mumbled Italy looking down, prompting two faces to give him fierce looks. Germany was the one who spoke, however.

"Nein, Italien," he said. "It is not your fault. I do not think that you meant to get hit by a car."

"Besides, it isn't like you wrote Twilight, or the script for Jersey Shore," piped in Washington, grinning. "We just need to meet to get together a cover for you, and to go over normal meeting things, don't worry." Italy smiled.

"Okay," he said. "I'm a little tired, though."

"Do you want me to organize it, so that you can take a nap?" asked Washington. "I typically organize dad's meetings for him, especially when he's busy." Italy sent him a grateful look, and nodded.

"Grazie," he mumbled, and yawned, closing his eyes. "How long was I... you know..." He could almost hear Germany cringing inwardly.

"You were... dead... for three days, and comatose for two more." German accent, smooth as ever, and if Italy had not known better, he would have thought that Germany did not care very much.

"... I think I'm going to take a nap, now." His words were punctuated by a yawn, echoed by another and a quiet 'dammit' that he didn't think he was supposed to hear. "Buonanotte, Germany, Washington." And, once again, he was gone.

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**A/N: Three things. First, I will shamelessly be using OCs for the States. Secondly, I'm only happy with the first part of this fanfic. And thirdly... R&R, it's appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Woo, new chapter! Please understand that I will probably be using several OCs to fill the empty holes left by places cut as Mexico and Argentina, and stuff like that. It is sadly unavoidable with a story like this. Anyhow, more thanks to Canada Williams, because of how desperate you are to be noticed, and thanks to anyone who took the time to read the first chapter! Even more thanks if you left a review. Oh, and pasta-**

**I'll shut up now and let you read the story.**

**Still don't own Hetalia, if you were wondering.**

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**AUGUST 1, 2013**

The World Conference was an excellent place to be after recovering from a car accident, in which you died- particularly after that, even.

Or at least, that's what Italy tried to tell himself, standing outside of the double doors and clinging to Germany's arm. He didn't really show any signs of his accident, aside from the slightest trace of a limp, and even that was vanishing quickly. He gave the doors a look of distaste before glancing back up at Germany. The blonde was focused on the objective, and Italy sighed, giving in.

"Let's go..." he mumbled, wishing that the other countries could, at least, have taken longer to actually get to his country, giving him a bit more time to recover and think. Germany glanced down at him, trademark frown on his face.

"Is something wrong...?" he asked, and Italy looked back up, shaking his head and smiling. Then, they went in the room.

There was Washington D.C. in America's spot, being questioned intensely by England and France- if you could see him, Canada was also hanging around, confused. There was Romano, held back by Spain, a good thing if the murderous expression on his face was anything to judge by. As usual, Switzerland and Liechtenstein sat in the most secluded spot they could find, and China was forced between Japan and Russia.

Same old, same old, for something so different.

"Ah, you're finally here!" Michael stood up, grinning and raising a hand in greeting.

"Ciao, Michael!" Italy called, and Germany simply nodded, leading the smaller nation to their seats.

"Hey, git!" England shouted. "You can't just ignore me!"

"Actually, I can," replied Washington cheerfully, smiling pleasantly at him. "I still haven't forgiven you for burning down the White House. Us States can be rather vindictive, and while I am not technically a State... well, I think that I can hold my own."

"Are you sure he is related to Amerique, Anglaterre...?" France was loudly whispering to England, making a pretense of not wanting others to hear- though, his voice easily carried through the room. The response he received was a whack on the head, courtesy of an American who quickly resumed looking stoic and professional, hands folded in his lap.

Italy briefly wondered how he could ignore being hit around so much as he sat down, wincing a little at the slight pain accompanying everything.

"Oh, privet, Italy! We can be starting the meeting now, da?" A heavy Russian accent broke through the noise, and Germany nodded, clearing his throat.

"Ja, we should all be here by now," he said, looking around the room. People from all over the world crowded the table, people of so many different ethnicities, beliefs, differences. It was almost hard to believe that they all had anything in common, let alone so much.

"America isn't-" began England almost childishly, though the talking rose into muffled screams and curses as a hand slapped over his mouth.

"Hello, I should introduce myself, to those of you who do not already know me." Standing up, the State did not remove his hand from the struggling Brit's mouth, and he cleared his throat. "I am the District of Columbia, more commonly known simply as 'Washington D.C.' to others and my citizens. I am here to represent my father, the United States of America, as he is currently occupied with matters that are irrelevant to the rest of you."

"Oh? Perhaps he is considering becoming one with me." Russia sounded happy, looked creepy, and smiled, fixing a stare on Washington, who stared pointedly away from him as he took his seat and gave England his mouth back.

"Then it is time to get the meeting started! Same rules as usual, eight minutes for speaking, raise your hand in a politically correct way, no going over the time limit, pay attention, no side deals, have your things ready before you go, and keep on topic!" Germany's voice was loud and carrying, deep and covered in a thick German accent, and several bored yawns failed to interrupt him despite the supposed best efforts of those making them. "Who would like to go first?"

Washington's hand shot into the air, straight up, and with an odd quirk, only his index finger stayed out of a fist. In effect, he was pointing at the ceiling. His other hand was used to push up his glasses, and he held a small packet of papers, a laptop set off to the side. Germany sat down, gesturing for him to go ahead.

"As I am sure, many of you are aware of Italy Veneziano's recent accident in the busy streets of Venice, Italy," he began. "Already, from what I have heard, several people are questioning. There is a strong chance of an information leak from the government, hospital, and overall public. We need a better cover up than simply 'he was in a coma' because even the State of California found that difficult to believe. One possible solution includes altering medical records, and I have no better ideas. Opinions?"

"In my _opinion_," began Romano loudly, glowering at the capital, "you faggot Americans should fuck off and mind your own goddamn business." D.C. smiled at him, nodding.

"Opinion noted," he said cheerfully, and jotted down something on a piece of paper with a pen. "Anyone else?"

"You would not be having these problems if you all became one with Mother Russia." Ivan's voice adopted a sing-song tone, and he smiled at them. China beside him recoiled violently, looking somewhat angry.

"Nobody wants one with you, aru!" The eastern nation proceeded to pummel the Russian violently with his oversized sleeves, shouting angrily.

"That was extremely thoughtful, insightful, and helpful." Washington nodded seriously, furrowing his brows and drawing his lips to further the mocking illusion, writing something else down on his paper, and Italy looked down at the hands he had clasped in his lap, frowning and looking a little bit shameful. He remained silent.

"What about the truth?" asked Spain, looping an arm around Romano and grinning at the room with his million watt smile. He earned so many shocked looks.

"No way, ese!" Dark haired, tanned, and muscular, that identified the next speaker, as well as a thick accent that was eerily similar to Spain's own. "Are you loco!"

"It is not that crazy, niño," said Spain affectionately. "Why should we keep lying to them?"

"Out of the question." Washington smacked his hand down on the table, glowering between the two of them. "Mexico, you just need to shut up, and Spain... you need to shut up too. You're forgetting that we are absolutely not allowed, under any circumstances, to tell anyone outside of the highest ranks of our governments." Spain shrugged, settling back and keeping his arm around a struggling, swearing Romano.

Italy swallowed that bit of information, Spain's opinion. Tell the world about Nations- it wouldn't be too hard to say the words. It was the aftermath that he himself feared, being rejected by his people- everyone being rejected, cast aside and left to die. Being alone- he was afraid of that, like the world was afraid of new things.

Not an option, not at all, and he was not going to contribute to this discussion.

"Does anybody have anything _useful_ to contribute?" asked Germany with a sigh, with his face in his hand and his thumb and fingers rubbing his temples.

"I could always use my magic to wipe their memories!" England looked around the table, smiling and obviously expecting a lot of enthusiasm.

"Okay, what is the opposite of that?" Washington innocently smiled at him, receiving a mistrustful look.

"Listening to the frog, I suppose." England shrugged as he spoke, trying to find a way to glare at both France and D.C.

"I won't let either of those happen!" The District of Columbia smacked his papers down on the table, looking around the room, exasperated.

"Well, I am disagreeing with both of you!" France giggled, leaned back in his chair, and looked smug.

"No fighting!" Before England could disobey, Washington smacked a hand in both of their faces. "This is important! Too important for you to mess up! We need solutions, not arguments, and you had better give me something to work with here!"

"Eight minutes is almost up." Germany didn't even bother looking up from his watch, sounding almost bored with the whole situation. Washington huffed, crossed his arms, and plopped down in his seat hard.

"Fine!" he snarled. "If you guys want the secret out, so be it! Don't come crying to the United States when you're deported from your own body!" There were a few moments of silence, before someone spoke up.

"Well, what do you want us to do?" Switzerland was talking, and he sounded more than a little irritated.

"Help everyone come up with a better solution," replied Washington slowly, obviously struggling to stop from snapping. "Contrary to popular belief, some Americans are, in fact, more than willing to ask for and accept help. I would think that you would be glad that, for once, we are not barging in and forcing things on you."

"I think that your idea of changing the medical records is a good one, Washington-san." Japan's voice was quiet, respectful. "Unfortunately, I can not think of a good idea- gomenasai."

"Do not apologize." Washington sounded tired now, and he waved a hand dismissively. "I can think of something... I will just need time."

"Eight minutes is up," said Germany, nodding. "Next?" Nobody raised their hand, everybody looked uncomfortable. Silence. Somewhere, a person coughed a few times. Nobody seemed to wish to say much of anything.

"This is way too short to be a real meeting!" England stood up, stamping his foot. "Does nobody have anything else to talk about, not including the frog?"

"We could discuss the terms of your surrender to me." Russia had ignored earlier China, and eventually, the old country had given up on his attacks.

"No, no, no!" he shouted, and resumed hitting him.

"Why would you wish to leave me out, Anglaterre?" purred France, leaning over the Englishman who quickly began screaming profanities and smacking his molester.

Chaos erupted.

And in the chaos, nobody noticed the small, almost orange girl slipping out the door with a video camera in hand, giggling to herself.

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**AUGUST 3, 2013**

This meeting, as predicted, was shorter than most. While some could go on for almost a week, this one lasted a below average of two days. Two chaotic, worrisome days, during which Italy mostly sat still and tried not to cause even more trouble, while Washington D.C. concerned himself with a cover up story, to the point of ignoring anyone else who tried to speak to him, unless it was relevant to his search.

Germany did not blame him. Even though there were a thousand ways he could say a harsh 'told-you-so' to Italy, he never once did, instead opting to keep up some semblance of order and continue doing what he always did- running everything smoothly.

It was a huge relief when everyone finally decided that the meetings had gone on long enough, and that it was time to head home. Leaving was an easy thing to do, really, when it wasn't your home. Germany, however, stayed, as did Spain- the former claimed the need to keep an eye on Italy, and the latter simply wished to stay with Veneziano's worried older brother.

Washington was one of the first to actually leave, giving them a farewell with a warning to the Italy brothers to watch out for New Jersey, a confusing bit of advice that they mostly ignored. Everyone leaving would certainly take longer than one day, but there were no more interactions to be had for the moment, everyone separating and making their preparations.

The resulting Vargas-Wielschmidt-Fernandez household was happy and dysfunctional, a giant melding pot of cultures- some of whom has serious problems with the other. A grand total of four languages clashed nearly all the time, though the middle road of English was often used. The one thing that everyone seemed to agree on was that it was a good thing that Prussia was not there, as that would have made tensions even worse.

No matter how chaotic it might seem to both insiders and outsiders, though, this was more peaceful than the failed Conference, during which nothing had been accomplished, once again. In truth, most of the people there would agree that the situation was actually rather agreeable. Italy, above all, was happy that he was able to be with friends and family, something that was becoming increasingly rare, without any improvement in sight.

All in all, it was a slow, easy time. At least, until it wasn't.

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**A/N: As usual, I'm going to have to ask you to R&R! Sorry for short, crappy chapters, I'm doing my best and I'll probably go back and edit everything at some point, because I'm not really happy with it.**


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